


An Unearthly Occasion

by RabbitOfPositveEuphoria



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), wholock - Fandom
Genre: Community: wholockians, Gen, Parallel Universes, Wholock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitOfPositveEuphoria/pseuds/RabbitOfPositveEuphoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the TARDIS leaves The Doctor and Clara stranded in London, they find themselves in need of shelter but after discovering the flat of 221C they find themselves warped into action by the lodgers from upstairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Milk, No Room

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first story ever. Im really not sure what im doing, but hey! I love writing this! Im not sure how long it will take to wrtite, i will try updating once every two weeks! Comments and feed back would be well aprreciated, and if any mistakes are found or continuity errors, please please tell me!

Sherlock was bored, John was tired. The two never mixed well and it didnt help that both were feeling equally dull. The constant scraping of the violin earlier had left John with a pounding headache and knowing he would never be able to sleep, he settled with the idea of making himself a cup of tea. There was no point in offering Sherlock one, so he simply wandered over to the kettle. Tea bag. Water. Milk? Typical, no milk.

"We're out of milk." Sherlock didn't even look towards him. Annoyed at his ignorance, John walked up to him and said, right in the face,

"Hello. Are you even conscious?" Nope, apparently not. Mind palace. Again. Resisting the urge to swipe him over the head with a chair, John put on his jacket, grabbed his wallet and left for the newsagents.

 

 ************************************************************************************

 

Clara walked into the console room with a towel wrapped around her head. She was wearing only a dressing gown, tied tightly around her waist. Unusual. "Why aren't you wearing your clothes?" The Doctor asked, blushing slightly.

"Well I would be, but your machine is yet again picking on me." He scowled at Clara as she said machine.

"Picking on you? Picking - how is she picking on you?"  

"It," she began before correcting herself "she has moved my room... Again." 

"Oh. Sorry, that might have been me..." He looked away, slightly ashamed

"You never suprise me Doctor. You've been flying the T.A.R.D.I.S however many years and still dont have the slightest idea what all the buttons do." He was going to protest but realised the argument would be a short one and as per usual, won by Clara. He just rolled his eyes and continued fiddling with cogs and important looking instruments.

"There should be a wardrobe somewhere to the left of the aquarium. You get dressed and I'll try to find your room."

 

************************************************************************************

 

A while later John was struggling up the stairs back to the flat, two bags of shopping pulling him down.

"A hand maybe?" John huffed as he entered the kitchen. 

"I thought you only went for milk." Sherlock spoke without opening his eyes. He was sitting on the sofa, obviously deep in thought.

 

"I knew you could hear me you idiot." John couldn't help laughing at the arrogant sod draped like some sort of accessory over the sofa. When Sherlock noticed him staring, he sat up straight.

After finally brewing his tea,  he sat down next to the detective on the sofa. As soon as he did so, Sherlock sprung into the air like a startled rabbit, scaring the life out of John who consequently spilt his scalding tea on himself.

 

"Why on earth did you do that?!" John screeched, standing up spilling more tea.

 

"You disturbed me! I was thinking!" Sherlock blabbed. Was he blushing? John couldn't really tell, he just needed to get out of the stinging hot clothes; he ran to his room and did not leave until the next morning.

 

************************************************************************************

 

"For heavens sake Doctor! What the hell is going on?!" Clara was thankfull she was no longer in the dressing gown when the red lights began flashing.

"I was trying to find your  room." Clara decided now wasn't the time to remind him who lost it.

"Don't you have a manual or something!?"

"I didn't agree with it!" they had to shout over the distressing noise of the TARDIS.

"And? Where is it now?"

"I threw it in a supernova!" God, he really was unbelievable. Clara was going to say so but the noise stopped and a calm spread over the TARDIS.

"We've landed." she stated blankly

 

 


	2. They come and go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock shys away, and Clara steps into the shadows of 221C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, chapter2! Im keeping them short so I can keep up with them. Sorry again for the awfull editing, as always coments, feedback and all that jazz is welcome! Woohoo!

 

 

Sherlock was gone when John woke up. No suprise really. He always missed Sherlock when he was gone and couldn't help it but feel self pity. Let's face it, Johns life was dull and boring, he needed Sherlock more than shelter,  but that wasn't what upset him; it was that without John , Sherlock would go on unaffected. He checked the fridge for unwanted specimins and, after finding two ears, a bag of toenails and an unidentifiable slab of meat (obviously inedible) he made breakfast. By gawd did he need to clean up whether Sherlock wanted it or not. After fineshing the food he was going to.

 

************************************************************************************

 

"London!" He smiled before licking his finger and sticking it in the air "2013. Dull." 

"It is not!" Clara protested "The second Hobbit film comes out. And the hunger games. And its the year I met you." she smiled up at him. 

"Yes. I suppose.." he didn't have a clue what she was on about but agreed anyway. "Do you know where we are?" He had no reason for asking her as he knew full well where they were and didn't think Clara would. It was a test. 

"Yes, actually, I do.  came here when I was younger, my dad and I were going to go to the Baker Street museum, but it had closed before we got there.. Which I think it is down that street." 

"Ahh yes. Doyle was a great man. I was the inspiration for the books, well I basically babbled about his books before he wrote them... I didn't realise until he started taking notes..." He grinned proudly. They began walking over to the street but stopped before simultaneously running back to where the TARDIS landed. It was now taking off.

By the time they reached it, she had gone.

"Doctor. What just happened?" 

"I - I dont know. She dosent like being here. It looked like protocall 4.."

"So we are stuck? How long till it comes back?" suprisingly, clara wasn't worried, she was just hoping she could still go to the museum. If worse comes worse, her home was only a taxi drive away.

"I don't know. Could be anything from a couple of hours to a couple of months." A couple of months would mean the Doctor and her finding a place to stay, Angies place as only temporary and had no room for an extra.

"Could be worse," She stared up at him. That was why she was his companion, she always looked on the bright side.

"I pressume I'll need money no matter how long we are staying, you go to the museum. I'll meet you in 10." he turned to walk away but clara realised he took his watch off earlier and despite being a timelord, he had no naturall sense of time keeping. 

"Doctor! Take my phone! Just, well.. In case" 

************************************************************************************

Molly had made tea. She even remembered the sugar. Putting it next to him, she asked whether she could help. "Hmm? Oh, no, not really, I just need to think."

"Well, I'll be downstairs if you do.." Sherlock had been called to a crime scene earlier by Lestrade. He didn't want to wake John after being such pain yesterday, but it was dull and unpleasant without him, Anderson was there which also didn't help. The victim had been paralysed before having their stomach ripped open. Organs were missing, blood covered the walls, it was vile. Even Sherlock thought so. The puzzle nagging sherlock however, was not who did it but rather, what chemical was used to paralyse her. He had seperated the chemical from the blood, but it was still no good. He needed more information. Remembering a book he recently scanned, he stood up and left for the Library.  Molly walked in a while later and looked a the tea. It was cold and untouched.

************************************************************************************

221b. By only looking at it she became an excited fangirl. The museum signs had been taken down which Clara was a bit mystified by, but she knocked on the door anyway. It was answered by an old looking woman who smiled and began chatting.

"Oh hello, are you here about the damp? I can't get anyone to take the flat until it's gone." 

"The flat?"

"Yes 221c, it's been up to rent for 5 years now. Nobody is interested.  knocked the price right down, still nothing... You know how it is..." Clara was awfully confused, was there a museum or not? It must have been closed since she came last, but why would they do that? Seeking an opportunity she replied:

"Yes that's why im here actually. Not for the damp. The flat. My friend and I were looking for somewhere to move in for the next few months. I was wondering whether I could have a look?" Well half of it was true.

 

 


	3. In need of assistance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock texts John. Clara calls the doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end for notes...

The knock on the door had startled John. Thinking Sherlock had a client he pondered to the top of the stairs. But as he took the first step down, Mrs Hudson opened the door. A girl, _probably_ in her 20's stood in the doorway. A friend of Mrs Hudson? As the landlady showed the visitor in,  he turned and wandered back into the flat. Shortly after he sat on the sofa, his phone beeped.

Chemical bonds - Dr Bale. Blue book. Top shelf. Is it there? SH

 

Top shelf. Why is it always the books on the top shelf which he wants. He had to balance on top of a pile of books in order to reach it.

Got it. Where are you? 

Library. New case, interesting. I  was wondering why I couldn't find book. SH

Great. Mrs H has a visitor.

As soon as John had sent it, he felt like a prat. Why was he telling Sherlock such trivia?

Not Mrs Turner I pressume? SH

No, a  new one. She's quite young.

Strange. Do you mean young for Mrs H? Or young in general? SH

In general. 

Ok. Will Talk later. Thinking.  SH

 

Best not reply. He might get angry. John sat waiting for Sherlock to return.

 

************************************************************************************

 

After a while, The doctor had found a cash point just a few blocks away from Baker Street. He waited until no one was around. Taking out his sonic, he strolled up to it before he scanned the machine. Within seconds it was spurting out money. He supposed he wouldn't need much so, after filling a pocket full with it, he turned to walk back the way he came. He loved the ability to hide in pain sight, he was like a chameleon in the city, hidden by the people who created a live disguise. Whilst he was admiring the humans, a loud chime sound boomed out of his pocket. After calming his nerves, he realised it was Claras mobile.

"Yup! Hello? The Doctor here?"

"Hi, Doctor, its me, Clara. You will never believe this but there is no museum anymore." As she said this he turned into Baker Street. Expecting her to be outside, he  began looking for her.

"Okay. So where are you?"

"Im inside 221. Anyway, that's not the point. The museum has gone and the landlady, Jane, has a flat which she is desperately trying to rent. It has damp, but I'm sure you can fix that, she says we can move in as soon as we like! What do you say?" Clara was obviously excited, she was speaking unbelievably quickly, the Doctor couldn't really hear her.

"Yes! I say yes!" He paused "Wait, what's the question?"

"Can we move into Baker Street?" She said, clearing her throat.

"Oh yes. Of course we can. How many quarters does it have?"

"Quarters? Oh, you mean rooms? It has only one bedroom, a bathroom, small kitchen and a living room. So four! The damp is spread in corners of all apart from the kitchen. What? What type of damp is it? How am I supposed to know? Its green. If that helps. Just bring enough money for it."

She hung up on him before he got chance to tell her not to touch it. Rolling his eyes, he turned, yet again, to get some more money.

************************************************************************************

Mrs Hudson left the girl to ring her friend on her own, after all, she had a sponge cake to get out of the oven. Whilst placing it on a cooling rack, a loud thump came from the room she had just left. After dismissing her natural reaction of shouting something unpleasant to Sherlock, she wandered back to where she left the girl. The brunette lay on the floor, obviously in a sort of hellish fever, her arms and legs limp around her. Mrs Hudson leant towards her completely at awe as to what she should do.

"Doctor?" Slurred out of the girls lips, snapping Mrs Hudson back into sense.

"Yes, you do need a doctor." she spoke calmly before shouting at the top of her voice "JOHN!"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* again, sorry for shortness of them ot seems slightly weird posting such short stuff, but it feels weird posting it in the first place......


	4. That will be my Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of inspired through Craigs introduction in The Lodger, where he becomes ill through the damp. Again, please comment and rate of whatever, hope you enjoy! Still am not sure how long this story will be ,but im again using short chapters to space it out.

 

Mrs Hudson screaming his name could only mean on thing. Something was wrong. He bolted down the stairs quicker than ever and ran into the kitchen. she was not there, but a cake was. He touched it. Burning hot. She must be here.

"Where are you?!" He shouted. After waiting for what seemed like a millennium,  there came a reply.

"I'm in 221c, come quickly" He noted that her voice was calm. Even so, he dashed through the small door into the other flat like a rocket.

There was Mrs Hudson, supporting a girls head. It took him a while to realise it was the girl from the doorway. She was in a high burning fever, that he could tell from just looking at her, he dreaded to think what else he would discover on closer examination.

"Help me lift her to our flat." Mrs Hudson obeyed. John had planned to take her to his room so she could rest on his bed, but they were only strong enough to lift her to the sofa. John peformed a quick medical check on her to see if she was ok. She was still shaking and showed no sign of improving, her pulse was sky high and didn't seem to be decreasing, her overall body temperature resembled that of  dessert air and her breathing was ragged and infrequent. Overall analysis: Nope, she was not ok.

"Don't take your eyes off her. Shout if anything happens." he darted upstairss into his room to find his medkit. Where the hell was it?! After that tearing down his wardrobe, he found it. Whilst tumbling down the stairs back to the sofa, he pulled out a strong depressent and a needle. After administering the drug she calmed down and was sent into a dreary sleep.

 

************************************************************************************

"The formulation of the poison is much more advanced than we thought."

"What do you mean, more advanced? Sherlock?" Lestrade was tired, and fed up. Sherlock had been making no sense all day. Even before he saw the murder.

"I'm not sure. I'll figure it out though. Send your least irritating officer with 4 pints of Duboirs blood by tonight. And don't let Anderson near it." he hung up on Greg as he got out of the cab. Sherlock unlocked the door and bounded up the stairs only to find John with his head on the chest of a girl.

"John? What on earth are you doing?" He raised his eyebrow and looked suspiciously at the doctor who stood up quietly once fineshing his calculation. 

"Checking her breathing rate. She had a rather strange reaction earlier."

"And she would be?"

"Mrs Hudson didn't get a name, but she's moving into 221c."

"What? She's  moving in and hasn't even mention her name? I don't think so." The doorbell rang before John could reply.

"Ahh, that will be my blood. John would you go and get that for me?"

"I'm watching her. I can't leave until she wakes up."

"Oh for gods sake, that's ridiculous!  she's not going to die in two minutes." Sherlock sat in his seat.

"And you're not going to die if you go downstairs and answer the door yourself." The beep of the doorbell had now turned into a repeatative hum.

"John."

"FINE! But next time we're out of milk, you're getting it."

 

 


	5. Just The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor meets John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, another REALLY short chapter... sorry

In the doorway stood a tall, and rather childish looking man, holding two paper bags full of money. He leant forwards and air kissed john on either side of his face, grinning like a monkey. There was nothing about him which John could recognise as 'Scotland Yard, Blood-carrying-delivery-man.'

"Hello!" He called, in a chirpy tone. John just stared at him, unable to speak. "My friend came here a while back. She's brown haired, so high, bit cheeky, goes by the name of Clara Oswald." He waited for a response. "No? Okay well she's definitely here." the tall man barged past John and bounded upstairs, taking two steps in each stride. "Ahh there she is." He exclaimed rather loudly before realising she was asleep and hushing his voice. Sherlock sprung out of his seat upon noticing the intruder.

"Who the hell are you?!" Sherlock hissed threateningly. John by this time was standing just inside 221b.

"Oh, sorry! How rude! I'm the Doctor, we're living downstairs! Well, we will be"

"And her?"

"Oh yes, she's my friend, Clara." The doctor looked at her quizzically. "Why is she asleep?"

Ignoring this question John asked,

"Sorry did you say the doctor?"

"Yes why?" John laughed. “What’s so funny?"

"You can't just call yourself The Doctor. Doctor who? You have to have a name after the Doctor bit."

"No I don't.”

"Erm, yes. Yes you do. So what is it?"  John was getting agitated.

"Sorry, what?" The doctor did not like the questions. He wanted to focus on Clara.

"Doctor what?" if John had any more patience it was being tested now.

"No, just the Doctor. I told you."

"I am a doctor too. But my last name is after my title. It cannot be just the doctor."

Fed up with pointless arguments, he replied, “Doctor John Smith. Happy?"

"Yes." Both doctors smiled, John somewhat defeatedly, before Sherlock interrupted.

"No. You are not a doctor, and your name is not John Smith."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, if anyone has any ideas as to where this story could lead, please comment! And tell me whether you like it or not, any room for improvement??


	6. Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor gets to know John and Sherlock a little more, but they still don't know anything about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one is a little longer!  
> Update: im thinking about not continuing this, if anyone has any ideas of where to go from here, please share them.

"What do you mean 'I am not a doctor'?" The Doctor looked at Sherlock annoyed. Granted, he did not know the man, nor did he know what to expect, but everything about the man echoed ‘Show off’ from the indoor suit, to the lopsided curls, to the piercing ice-blue eyes, the Doctor had the distinctive feeling this man was a trouble-maker.

John rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what was coming next. He hated when Sherlock went deductive-crazy on unsuspecting civilians, even if those civilians seemed crazy themselves. He found himself fond of other John without reason to. Yes, he looked like a grandads wardrobe gone wrong, but he appeared to be more of a defenceless puppy than a crazed man-child.

"Look at John, a real doctor with a medical degree and a long history of treating patients. The shoes he wears show that he works indoors, possibly an office, but no, the trimmed nail indicates a man who grooms himself regularly. There are only two reasons why he would do that; one - he cares about keeping his image clean, but the socks and shirt cancel that out. Two- he is in a job which requires cleanliness. A simple process of elimination. Then you have to figure out jobs which require that level of neatness. Overall conclusion: he is a doctor. You, on the other hand, are completely different."

"Oh?" The Doctor looked at Sherlock completely intrigued. All prior assumptions of the man now made perfectly clear – show off.

"Yes. Your shoes say walking, but the mud on them is from running, so an active job" The Doctor giggled a little at this. Him, with a job? He could barely stand still for five minutes and this man thinks he has a job but his humour only prompted the deduce more. "They are a new style but look, they are old. Moving up, your socks, jacket and trousers are the style of an old man. You're either much older than you seem, or live with your father. Obviously the latter, I mean bow tie? Really? And the fact that you have your hands on that amount of money means he booted you out. He paid for you to bugger off; maybe you're too annoying for your dad, maybe too childish. But all this childishness is cancelled down when you look at the bulge in your left pocket. You're armed, with a gun of some sort so the whole look is a disguise. So tell me John Smith, who you are and what are you doing in my flat?!" Sherlock was angry, John confused and the Doctor was trying not to let the smug grin grow any wider on his face. "What?! What do you find so _very_ funny?!" The detective was staring intensely at the grinning hyena who sat on the sofa in order not to lose balance and topple down. After a short while the Doctor caught his breath to say:

"You are completely wrong." Sherlock’s eyes bulged and John nearly doubled over in shock.

" _Wrong_? What do mean wrong?"

"You think  I'm armed?" The Doctor sniggered

"I _know_ you are." Sherlock growled

"Want to check?"

"Love to." Sherlock wandered towards The Doctor who put his arms in the air creating a 'T'. Rather than patting the intruder down, Sherlock just reached into the man’s left inner pocket only to pull out a strange looking instrument. The Doctor smiled triumphantly. Sherlock glowered, perplexed, he was about to speak but the doorbell rang and he sprinted downstairs leaving John alone with the madman and feeling rather confused.

"So is your name John or The Doctor?" He asked. The mad man turned to look at him.

"Whichever you choose, I prefer the Doctor." John smiled, two Johns in Baker Street could get complicated.

"Yeah, that would be less confusing."

"Less confusing? How do you mean?"

"Well two Johns would just be crazy. And you can't really shorten it to anything, so it would be just John and other John." The Doctor nodded.

"So he's called John?"

"Oh no I'm John, he's Sherlock." The Doctor's jaw nearly hit the floor. Before snapping shut like a clam as he figured out not only what was going on but what to do.

"What?" John wanted to know what made the doctor so shocked.

"You're John?" If The Doctor was getting uncontrollably panicky, which he was, it didn’t show.

"Yes."

"And he is Sherlock Holmes?! The detective? Brother of Mycroft?"

"Yes. Why?" Then the doctor really didn't know what to say. He knew what he couldn't say, what he mustn't say, but not what he should say. He settled on:

"I read the articles!" John rolled his eyes. Great. Well this was fantastic. Another fan. Living downstairs.

"Wait. What are you doing? Doctor, stop it. Sit down." The doctor stopped bouncing around the room and sat in Sherlock’s chair.

"No wonder he wasn't getting it." The doctor had used 'John Smith' on countless people. And races. But never on Sherlock Holmes. How was this even possible?

"what do you mean wasn’t getting it." Sherlock walked in and shoved the Doctor out of his seat. He was holding a brief case. For the second time in minutes the doctor panicked.

"Oh just thinking aloud." He turned to look at Clara. "I need her well, is it ok to wake her?" it was more of a request than a question. John simply nodded and walked into the kitchen. Within the next 15 minutes Clara had been prodded, jabbed, shouted at, showered with water, slapped in the face ("I promise I won’t hit hard" Sherlock had said) shaken, swung, moved into seventeen different sleeping positions (Neither the Doctor, nor Sherlock knew there to be so many, but John insisted they were all perfectly natural)

She wasn’t waking up.

The Doctor looked at John, concerned and slightly afraid. John instantly recognised his look of despair.

“It’s ok, you can stay until she wakes.” He spoke softly. Sherlock protested immediately

"Oh, that is completely ridiculous, she could be sleeping for hours! Can you not  wait in 221C"

“Sherlock, they have no furniture. Where would he stay?” Sherlock purposefully ignored the question to glare at the Doctor who was standing in the doorway.

“It’s ok, I will go and speak to Mrs Hudson, see if I can stay with her for a while. Maybe get some tea.” The man smiled and wandered downstairs. Sherlock returned to John in the kitchen to sit at his microscope with a sample of blood but noticed the soldier staring at him.

“What? That man was a liar and too overexcited for me to spend another second with” He hissed, a little harsher than he meant to. John simultaneously rolled his eyes and sighed.

“There was no need to be so rude. That girl is his friend; he has a right to stay with her, even if that means staying in our flat for a couple of hours. And despite all your brilliant deductions, you failed to notice how lonely he was. Spending some time with him I’m sure would’ve calmed him down”

Sherlock just groaned and went to gazing into his microscope. How could John want to spend any more time with the ridiculous madman?

“I’m going for a walk. I need air.” He put his bomber jacket on and left downstairs. Sherlock ran to the window and watched John walk away.

He abandoned his blood after only seven more minutes of trying to figure it out. The blood seemed to be locked in some sort of chemical catchment; he could not dissect the different elements of the compound without destroying the crucial part he needed. The detective walked over to his instrument and decided to play his violin instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, comments and suggestions are welcome, thank you for reading and i hope you like it. Please do suggest anything, and if you notice any errors, please tell me! :) Thank you!!


End file.
